


arise and walk on

by sex_pistols_number_4



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Growing Up, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Morioh (JoJo), but the hurt is entirely emotional and most of the time is spent on the comfort, compatible with Royal but not Strikers, the duwang boys are all grown up, you can definitely read this as josuyasu but it's not integral to the story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29444652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sex_pistols_number_4/pseuds/sex_pistols_number_4
Summary: Dejected and lonely after the dissolution of the Phantom Thieves, Haru stays occupied by throwing herself into her work. While scouting locations for the opening of her cafe, she visits Morioh Town, where a chance encounter with a couple memorable locals helps her find a fresh perspective and some hope for the future.
Relationships: Past Okumura Haru/Persona 5 Protagonist (one-sided)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

It’s the spring of 2017, and their victory has achieved what countless Shadows could not: it has brought an end to the Phantom Thieves.

With the benefit of hindsight, Haru’s always known on some level that it couldn’t last forever. Ren would be finishing up his probation and going home, of course, and with her and Makoto having graduated from Shujin, getting the group together might be less convenient than it’d once been. Still, they have the numbers to make up for their leader’s loss, or so she’d reasoned. Besides, Yusuke doesn’t go to the same school either, and they’ve always managed to hang out with him just fine.

But then, almost as soon as reality returns to normal, the group starts hemorrhaging fast. Ann’s headed to Milan for a semester. Sumire has some kind of international training camp for gymnastics. Mona-chan has gone back with Ren (and this is a particularly bitter pill to swallow; Haru’s always been especially fond of the little guy). And at last the final revelation comes: she and Makoto are accepted to different universities. Pursuing that organic agriculture systems degree she wants would mean moving all the way up to Sendai, a full three hundred sixty-eight kilometers away from Tokyo. It’s impossible to stifle the feeling that, even as they stand together at the apex of their victory, everything is slipping through her fingers.

She doesn’t want to complain, but this hardly feels fair. After all, she’d barely known them - it wasn’t even a full year ago that she’d finally made some friends, true friends who didn’t care about her money or her family name, and now they’re dwindling rapidly away, one by one.

The execution of her father’s estate is finally complete, and her attorney asks if she wants to keep the house - maybe rent it while she’s attending university, generate some side revenue. Haru shakes her head, has him put it up on the market. The good memories left in that house have all been tainted by what came after: her father hollowing himself out and pouring his soul into Okumura Foods, the countless evenings putting on music or watching TV just to break up the silence while he worked late or went out of the country on a business deal, his brutal and horrifying murder just as she was on the verge of reconnecting with him. Going back to the Okumura household, all alone in its cavernous halls and high ceilings, sounds like a prison sentence. If she has to live on her own, she’ll at least do it in a one-person space.

By the time her living arrangements are made and the move’s underway, almost nobody is around to say goodbye in person. A stop by Leblanc gives her the chance to wish Sojiro and Futaba the best, at least. Ryuji manages to text her a heartfelt message, though he’s busy at track practice. And surprisingly, Akechi Goro meets her at the station, introspective and contrite (and alive, although she supposes she’s less surprised about that). He’s negotiating a plea agreement, he says, working with Makoto’s elder sister to ensure he’ll pay his debt to society. He doesn’t expect her forgiveness, but he wants her to know he’s sorry for what he’s done to her, and that he wishes her nothing but the best.

Haru pushes down an unbearable swell in her heart and manages a thin smile. “I accept your apology, Akechi-kun,” she replies politely, hands folded atop her suitcase. “Please don’t ever contact me again.”

With her last bridge burned, 368KM goes by in the blink of an eye.

-//-

College isn’t easy, of course, but Haru finds she has more flexibility with her time than she did in high school. She gets two hours between classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and that gives her enough time to go back to her apartment and have a long lunch. Evenings are peaceful as well, once her coursework is done - plenty of time to tend to the tomatoes growing on her balcony, brainstorm ideas for the café she wants to open, and scroll the news on her phone.

But most of all, it’s a lot of time to herself. Time in which she can reflect on the past year, on the thrills and the agony of her brief tenure with Japan’s most famous group of dashing rogues. 

She wasn’t _unpopular_ before the Phantom Thieves, but no one could ever quite breach the iron gate of the Okumura name. Too many times, she’d seen people she found interesting - people she would’ve wanted to befriend - turn into sycophants the second they realize how much money she had. So everyone stayed at arm’s length - superficial friendships, a ‘how are you’ in the hallways here and a ‘can I copy your notes’ there. There had been no one to open up to, nobody to tell that she wished her father would come home more often or that she was dreading her engagement or...anything, really.

She’d dealt with it back then by keeping busy, and that’s what she does now - quickly and decisively, before the loneliness can set in. Studying and gardening take up plenty of time, of course, but Haru reserves her greatest efforts for the café. More than one evening races by as she lounges at the bar of her kitchenette, her stockinged legs swaying idly from atop the stool, browsing for location ideas on her laptop. Tonight is one such night, her textbooks closed and forgotten while a single wistful plume of vapor uncoils from her mug of ginger cardamom. There’s a manilla folder across from the mug, open to sheet after sheet of concept art for logos reading “Café Noir”, that she keeps stealing glances at between paragraphs of research.

(The name was Yusuke’s idea. She had thought at first that it might seem a bit pompous and offend people, but he had pointed out in reply that nobody knew she called herself that.)

Determined not to start thinking about that, Haru sips daintily from her teacup and resumes her research. It’s been slow going - she’s terrible with computers, and trying to find anything in a search engine is like pulling teeth - but after weeks of painstaking study, she might have finally found a prospective home for Café Noir’s first location.

Nestled away at the city’s outskirts, Morioh is a quaint little suburb of Sendai (which the locals charmingly call ‘S City’, a detail that Haru finds positively delightful) with a reputation as a reliable commuter town. Apparently it’s been around since the Edo period, which she instantly believes when she sees the pictures on Google Maps. A smile tugs at her lips as she mouses over scene after scene of picturesque 18th-century architecture, stately villas, and neatly-ordered streets. There’s a cozy vibe to its energy that makes the town hard to dislike.

It’s hard not to think of Leblanc, actually. Those nights, studying or eating or just hanging out with her friends, are some of her fondest memories, and if she can just catch that vibe in a bottle - if she can only recapture what it felt like to be there on a rainy evening, reading a book over a steaming plate of curry - then Café Noir will be a success as far as Haru’s concerned.

Well, there’s no sense getting wistful about it now. Her classes finish before noon on Fridays, so maybe afterwards she can head out and do some field research in Morioh. Wasting time is wasting life, and if she’s going to seriously consider planting her flag in this town, there’s no time like the present to get started.

 _Wasting time is wasting life_. That was one of her father’s sayings, wasn’t it? He’d said it more and more often as she got older, mostly about her gardening. Everything had to be efficiency and profit margins, or else it wasn’t worth contemplating.

Haru sighs and closes the laptop.

-//-

On the train to Morioh, she watches the countryside race past under the near-noonday sun, and her thoughts drift unbidden to herself and Ren, sitting side by side in her living room last autumn.

_This is the best day of her life. Takakura-san’s just left, and with him goes her engagement plans. To Haru, it’s like coming up for air after spending the past year drowning. Just an hour or two ago, the future had seemed inextricably chained to her fiance, with no hope of rescue in sight, and now it’s just over. Just like that._

_It’s hard to overstate her relief. Sugimura was a horrorshow, a leering, jabbering swine of a man with nothing to recommend him outside of his money (which, to be crass, paled next to hers) and his connections (in which she was not interested). Countless times, she’d put up with his crude insinuations, with his casual entitlement to her time and her affection, and perhaps most of all with the way he seemed to always loom threateningly over her as if to block any hope of escape. Less of a relationship and more of a hostage situation. But he’s gone now - locked out of the agreement with her father dead and her agreement annulled._

_“I...I almost can’t believe it,” she breathes, slumping forward on the couch and letting all the tension spill out of her shoulders. “It’s really over...I’m free to live my own life now.” Fluffy brown curls bounce wildly as she straightens again. “And it’s all because of you, Ren-kun.”_

_Her father used to say that some people are simply born leaders, that they have some inherent combination of charisma and capability that filters them into leadership roles. If that’s true, then Haru’s never encountered a truer case of it than Amamiya Ren. Since his transfer to Shujin in March, he’s been the rock that brought her life back down to earth. She adores how he leads the Phantom Thieves to success against all odds, how he always knows the right approach to take when she has a problem, how he effortlessly weaves through Shadows and swaps coffee techniques with her and sometimes strikes a pose in the mirror when he thinks nobody’s arrived at the hideout yet._

_But most of all, she loves the way Ren smiles at her when she thanks him for helping her lug fertilizer bags up the stairs at school. How his eyes sparkle as he tells her about his hometown out west, or his dreams of going into social work someday. His tendency to rub at the nape of his neck when he gets a particularly glowing compliment._

_Case in point, there it is, actually. “You did all the heavy lifting here, Haru.” His head dips and and one hand brushes over his shaggy black hair, scratching at his neck. “Just glad I could be here to support you. So what are you going to do, now that you’re out of the engagement?”_

_“I guess...whatever I want to do,” she replies, and something about being able to actually say that brings a surge of joy with it, a wild, dangerous rush of excitement. “Now that Takakura-san’s running the company, I’m free to set my sights where I please.”_

_Her gaze comes to rest on Ren’s hand, slender and pale, laying on the couch cushion at his side, and maybe it’s her Persona whispering in her ear, or the sudden exhilaration of freedom, but Haru feels a swell of boldness she’s never felt before. Before she knows it, she’s inched a little closer on the couch, her hand resting lightly atop his. He’s warm to the touch, or perhaps it just feels that way with how clammy her palms are getting._

_“Speaking of Takakura-san…h-he certainly seemed to be in a good mood. I hope he didn’t bother you with the way he was going on about me liking you…”_

_Her heart is thundering against her ribs, her pulse almost drowning out her words. This is so much scarier than in the movies, but she’s pushing through it anyway, putting herself out there. And critically, there’s so much going on that, in Haru’s nervousness, she misses the way Ren shifts in unease as she presses on, how his hand tenses at her touch._

_“...What do you suppose he was so hung up on that for?” There is no way this can be mistaken for anything other than what it is, but she’s given it the faintest shred of plausible deniability there. A fig leaf, really, just for decorum’s sake._

_Ren’s mouth tightens to a thin line in an uncharacteristic wince; he hesitates as if picking out the right words, just long enough for an awful sinking feeling to set in. “Well…” he begins, and Haru’s heart plunges into her stomach. “...we’re great friends, aren’t we? I mean, look at what we’ve accomplished so far together. The challenges we’ve overcome, the enemies we’ve faced, the good things we’ve done for people.”_

_She’s trying desperately not to let her mortification show on her face, but he’s always had a keen eye for reading people, and there’s no way some of it isn’t leaking through, because their fearless leader is holding up his hand now, talking faster and more frantically, as if he’s trying to bail water out of a sinking ship._

_“Um, and even besides that, Haru, you’re...you’re an important member of the Phantom Thieves, and you’re an awesome person to be around. You’re so thoughtful about others, and you’re always doing things for everybody else without worrying about yourself, and...” Their eyes meet, and behind his glasses, Ren’s as earnest and serious as ever. (It had taken her a while to figure out that ‘Joker’ was an ironic nickname.) “...well, our friendship really means a lot to me.”_

_It’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to her, which is ironic considering how badly it crushes her hopes._

_Both of them are already eager to get out of the room at this point, at least. Not even a minute goes by before Haru manages to fumble her way through an excuse about entrance exams, her hands clasped white-knuckled at her lap and her eyes brimming. Mercifully, Ren takes the out she’s given him and beats a hasty retreat back to the café rather than embarrass her further._

_Perhaps more mercifully, neither of them bring it up again._

The automated voice on the bullet train jolts her out of her reverie. _“Morioh-cho. Now arriving at Morioh-cho. This is the last stop on the line.”_

Up ahead, the station looms in the buttery gold of the sunshine - and flanking it, the silhouetted jumble of a small-town cityscape, teeming with possibilities. More than just a nice spot to open her café, it represents a fresh start, a chance to move past the disappointment and loss that’s marked her last few months. Perhaps most importantly, the chance to have something that’s truly _hers_ and hers alone - something that can’t be snatched away from her.

Haru rises from her seat at the window, giving a weary little stretch, as the train grinds to a halt. She’s already pushing the memory to the back of her mind (a familiar routine - her subconscious drags it up at the worst possible times), trying to dial in and focus on her visit. 

Now’s not the time to cringe about the past. Opportunity is waiting, and the balmy sunlight out there is an irresistible invitation.

-//-

There’s crowded, and then there’s _crowded_ \- when you spend most of your life in the Shibuya rush, you get familiar with the latter. In comparison, the golden heart of Morioh is a breath of fresh air. It’s busy, of course, but the throngs of people milling around the central square are sparse and easy to navigate between, and there’s plenty of room to slow down and take in the sights as Haru wanders along the square’s edge. At the other side of the street is a row of little storefronts, trailing off into a criss-cross of streets that must be the shopping district she’d read about online.

 _It sounds different here too,_ she realizes belatedly, pausing under a weathered lamppost to listen. As the low thrum of the crowd’s chatter washes over her, there’s a sort of warmth to it, a casual easiness that pairs well with the spring breeze and the faint fragrance of zelkova trees in bloom. Back home, the noise always used to feel more sterile, like the constant hum of industrial machinery; everybody in Tokyo’s in such a rush to get where they’re going, and no one’s going to risk slowing down to have a human moment when it means holding up everyone behind them. Here there’s the unhurried conversations from one end of a phone call, the quiet undertone of traffic - beyond that, the calls of street vendors manning their stalls, excited exchanges between friends over a newfound bargain. A lot going on, certainly, but all the noise seems to occupy its own space, unintrusive and self-contained, never spilling over into one big cacophony (which, if she’s being honest, is what Tokyo often feels like).

Haru fiddles with the hem of her pink turtleneck, tuning into the idle musings of a nearby couple in their twenties - newlyweds, probably, they’re holding hands as they stroll by.

“--ready for everything to be uninteresting again for a while,” the man’s saying in a low, sheepish tone. “All that drama over the election and the prime ministerial appointment...no news is good news, that’s what I say.”

His companion chuckles softly, leaning against his arm as they walk. “Well, you’re in the right place for that, love. Want to see if they’re seating people for the matinee yet?”

They fade into the distance, eventually becoming indistinguishable from the rest of the crowds roaming up and down the sidewalk. Alone with her thoughts, Haru lets herself smile a little at what she’d overheard - if that man only had a clue how ready _she_ is to put ‘election drama’ and Masayoshi Shido behind her. If Morioh’s somewhere that no news is good news...well, maybe that’s exactly what she’s looking for.

Pursing her lips, she pulls her phone from her bag and glances at an email she’d sent herself. The subject line reads “Market Research”, which she’d been pleased with at the time since this is supposed to be a business trip and “Sightseeing Ideas” would’ve been unprofessional. It’s a list of places to check out during her visit, locations to scout. From her online research, there are a few spots where the kind of café she was planning might fit particularly well, and seeing them in person, getting a feel for the local vibe, is the logical next step.

There’s a map on her phone, and travel hubs like this usually have some kind of visitor’s center where she could go ask for directions, but Haru decides she’d much rather just wander for a while until she finds what she’s looking for. This _is_ a business matter, but no matter how professionally she titles her emails, it’s also a matter close to her heart. The feel - whether it clicks with her - is even more important than the profit margin when it comes to Café Noir.

Her father, rest his soul, would be disappointed to hear that, and would doubtless have had some pearl of wisdom to pass along about ‘facts, not feelings’. But now that she really thinks about that, her father is the man who lost sight of everything that had mattered to him, from the toy spaceships he’d coveted as a child to the daughter who’d desperately wanted him to come back into her life. What are his words worth now?

Pulling her bag up onto her shoulder, Haru sets off towards the crosswalk. By the time she blends back into the crowd, she finds that she’s started humming under her breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Haru goes window shopping, sees some of the local sights, and gets into something called a 'Stand battle'.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haru goes window shopping, sees some of the local sights, and gets into something called a 'Stand battle'.

Fifteen minutes in the Kotodai shopping district gives Haru a wealth of intel.

First, it is definitely not the spot for Café Noir, but she had kinda figured that already. While a busy block full of shoppers and tourists is an obvious benefit from a business perspective, the atmosphere is not quite what she’s going for, with its lit-up displays and swelling chatter. Plus there’s a St. Gentleman at one corner, and _that_ would be stiff competition indeed; delis and cafés tend to have some overlap in their customer base, and even the best coffee would have a hard time measuring up against a tonkatsu sandwich on toasted _shokupan_.

Speaking of which, it’s hard not to get closer. Every time the door to the shop opens, the bouquet of aromas that comes wafting out makes her mouth water. Haru finds herself at the window, perusing some of the specials on display (today’s brunch sandwich, featuring a colorful array of strawberries, kiwi slices, and peaches snuggled away in a nest of whipped cream, looks downright decadent). Her brain is just beginning to ruminate on how interesting it is that a gourmet chain like this would have a location in Morioh, when at last Haru comes across a golden plaque by the display window and discovers that this is apparently the _original_ St. Gentlemen - the ones she’s seen in Tokyo must have been franchise locations.

The thought gives her some pause. In her childhood, the usual route to ballet lessons would often take her chauffeur past the St. Gentlemen in Aoyama-Itchome. Haru remembers peering through the tinted windows in the backseat, seeing people lined up halfway around the block during the lunch rush. It was like an assembly line, or perhaps the world’s most orderly ant farm; customers would file in through one door and then out the other, bags in hand and licking their lips, almost as fast as they’d shuffled inside. 

She had begged her father to take her there someday and, since this was back in the good times, he’d finally agreed, even taking the afternoon off to do so. A fond memory, one she hasn’t really thought about in a long while - seeing all this must have jarred it loose somehow.

Perhaps it’s just her experiences in the cognitive world coloring how she thinks about it, but if something like that - a touchstone from happier times, a comforting memory - could have sprung from here and grown to such a scale, to affect so many people...then that bodes well for Morioh, doesn't it?

Perhaps food can wait for now. There’s a cute boutique down the street, and it’d be nice to enjoy the fresh air for a little while longer.

-//-

It’s been about three minutes of browsing through one of the stalls at the used bookstore before she gets the impression that someone’s watching her.

Call it paranoia, or perhaps a sixth sense, but her tenure in the Phantom Thieves has taught Haru a great deal about awareness and perception. There’s a sort of stillness off to her right, coupled with the faintest hints of whispering that weave in and out of the crowd’s murmurs, that makes it feel like someone’s trying not to move or stand out. She can practically feel the eyes boring into her side as she leafs through a used copy of Kawabata Yasunari’s _The Master of Go_.

Probably nothing, but just to be safe, she gently edges her way around the side of the stall, turning in place a little, and sets the book back down, then pretends to spot an interesting cover on one of the shelves - “Oh!” - and looks up quite abruptly to reach for it.

Abrupt, limited chaos breaks out behind the other stall. There’s a sudden scuffle of flailing arms and frantic whispers - she catches something about “--no, get _down_ , man--” and in her peripheral vision, an indistinct dark-colored blob hunkers down behind the stall in a pathetic attempt to conceal itself. Students? That’s definitely a school uniform of some kind. Pretending to examine the book in her hands, Haru strains to tune out the background noise and listen in on whoever’s lurking over there. It sounds like there’s two, maybe three of them, and one is a little more loudmouthed than the others, so despite their best attempts, snatches of their conversation are still audible over where she is.

“--almost knocked me over! Quit shoving, dumbass--”

“--oh man, did she see us?”

“--think we’re still good--”

So they _are_ watching her. There’s a faint tension that’s worked its way into her stance, and the skin on the back of her neck is prickling with goosebumps. She keeps all of that out of her face, sliding into a mask of practiced calm, and her eyes flit from side to side to check the exits. The stalls outside this bookstore are open-air, at least, so the easiest way to put distance between them would be out to the curb, and then probably off to the right. It looks like there’s an alley between the shops that she could retreat through, if needed.

Overkill? Maybe, but old habits die hard, and as harmless as a couple students seem, she’s dealt with danger from the unlikeliest sources lately. Better safe than sorry, after all--

“--dude, just _talk_ to her--”

“--now’s your chance, get over there--”

“--man what are you guys _doing_ \--”

But now there’s no time, unless she wants to make a scene in public by bailing out now, because a boy - well, a _young man_ \- has been shoved out from behind the other stall and is making a nervous beeline for the spot next to her. Haru gets a good look at him on his way over; he’s in a black uniform, jacket slightly unbuttoned to reveal a patterned violet bandana around his neck and a t-shirt that can’t possibly be regulation, and his hair is a haphazard bottle-blonde that reminds her of Ryuji. A silver “II” pin affixed on his lapel suggests he’s a second-year at some nearby school.

She sets the book down just as the stranger arrives and leans on the edge of the stall next to her. “Hey,” he says, running a hand through the mop of gold on his head. “I, uh...if you’re looking for the _really_ good deals, there’s a bargain bin inside. They load it up Friday mornings, so there should be a lot left.” His left foot bounces nervously on its heel as he speaks, a detail Haru doesn’t miss but declines to remark on.

“Well, thank you,” she replies, cautious but at least a little reassured by the friendly opener. “I’ll have to check it out, I didn’t know about that.”

To his credit, he gives her some space, backing off from the table as she shifts. “Yeah! Yeah, definitely.” The boy seems encouraged by her response, and his hands find his way to his pockets (either so he can stand jauntily, which Haru has to admit is sort of rakish-looking, or so that he doesn’t have to think about what to do with them). “I figured you didn’t, cause...I mean, you’re new around here, aren’t you?”

Haru arches an uncertain eyebrow. “Well...why do you ask?”

“O-oh, I just...well, I’ve never seen you around here before.” He puffs up a bit, undeterred by her wariness, and while the grin he flashes is downright mischievous, his eyes are warm above it. “And I come to this shop a lot, and...I mean, I _definitely_ would remember seeing you.”

The realization hits her like a gunshot out of the blue, so sudden that everything else seems to screech to a halt: this kid’s _flirting_ with her. He saw a cute girl, his friends egged him on, and he’s shooting his shot. She’s still so in the mindset of a Phantom Thief - keeping secrets, changing hearts, and dodging the law - that she was looking for escape routes from a boy on his way to chat her up.

“My name’s Hikaru, by the way,” he continues, seeming to loosen up a little as this goes on, “and I guess you probably figured this out already, but I’m a second-year at Budogaoka High. Do you go to school around here, or…?” He’s trailed off at this point, uncertain of how to proceed since she’s laughing - not _at_ him, of course, but there’s no way for Hikaru to know that. 

“Oh my goodness.” Haru fails miserably at smothering her giggle behind the back of one hand, the faintest hint of pink coloring her face. “I’m sorry, you just caught me off guard. I’m actually in college - I’m attending the Tohoku Institute in, ah, S City.”

That was supposed to be reassuring, but it mostly just succeeds in making him flush even more deeply than her. Clearly he wouldn’t have been so bold if he’d realized she was that far ahead of him. Backpedaling, the kid puts some more space between them and backs off towards the street. “Sorry, I...my bad, ma’am. Uh, please excuse my impertinence!”

“No no, it’s all right!” she exclaims, hurrying to catch him before he can turn tail and flee. “Y-you don’t need to apologize - I wasn’t laughing at _you_ , just at...well, the situation, I suppose.” This at least pauses Hikaru’s retreat, and he hesitates by the curb, where she holds up a plaintive hand. “Like I said, you just surprised me. This is my first time in Morioh, so I’m not sure what to expect.” Then, because her brain is finally catching up with the introduction: “I’m Haru, by the way. It’s nice to meet you, Hikaru-kun.”

For the moment, at least, he’s finally at ease again, and although his neck has darkened to match his cheeks, it’s a good-natured sort of embarrassment. “Eheh. Nice to meet you too, and uh...thanks for not yelling at me or anything.” He musses at the back of his hair, cringing through a lopsided grin. “Last week I moved in on this girl that turned out to be, like, a grad student. Oh my god, man, everybody in a two-block radius must’ve heard me get slapped.”

Haru supposes that makes sense - if he approaches every girl with the same forthright approach he used on her, that’s bound to happen eventually. Still, he’s got a puppy-dog sort of earnestness to him, and the fact that he made a pass at her in spite of his obvious nervousness is pretty endearing. He’ll be a heartbreaker someday.

“Well, that seems like a little much,” she says with a bright smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m flattered that you tried.” Smoothing down her skirt, she takes a step over to the curbside to get out of the way of anybody on the sidewalk. It has the added benefit of bringing her eye-to-eye with Hikaru, who’s a few inches taller. “Did you say you come here a lot? I’m actually in the market for books on coffee brewing - techniques, ingredients, and so on.”

The kid (he’s probably two years younger than her at most, but it’s hard not to think of high school, _especially_ pre-Metaverse high school, as being almost like another lifetime at this point) perks up, seizing on an opportunity to be helpful. “They’ve got a culinary section in the back, yeah. Maybe I can--”

“Kawajiri-kun!” The sudden call catches them both unawares, and Haru takes a step back, her dark eyes widening. It’s a police officer on a bicycle, one who’s somehow managed to roll up on them both without being noticed. This is a remarkable accomplishment, she realizes - the guy’s at least 180cm and has shoulders like an American football player. “You harassing this young lady? Ma’am, if this delinquent’s giving you trouble, just say the word and I’ll haul him off downtown.”

It’s quite an entrance, but the bombastic threat doesn’t even faze Hikaru, who rolls his eyes with an exaggerated huff and half-turns to include the cop. “ _God_ , Uncle Josuke, could you, like... _not_ for once? Aren’t there actual delinquents you could be yelling at?”

Atop his bike, the cop’s stern expression breaks into a grin, and the mock-tension in the air dissipates as the two lean in to speak. “Not so many that I couldn’t come by to say hi. How’d the math test go?”

“Oh, it was a breeze. Geometry makes a lotta sense, when you think about it…”

Well, to be totally truthful, Haru’s interest in this conversation is dwindling pretty rapidly. Over the past year, she’s seen and experienced a lot to make her mistrust the justice system. Not even six months ago, the Phantom Thieves were nationally-wanted fugitives, perpetually looking over their shoulders for the cops and Akechi and Sae (and the entire Japanese government, or so it had felt at times). Even now, with all of that behind her, it’s hard not to feel an instinctive unease at the sight of this officer showing up at the scene.

Better to continue her explorations without worrying about that. While they’re occupied talking about school, she quietly slips away and takes advantage of that exit strategy she plotted earlier, ducking into an alley and disappearing around the corner.

-//-

It’s almost a full block before she realizes she’s in the Metaverse.

To be fair, she’s out of practice, and so Haru misses the transition altogether when she steps into the alley, distracted as she is with gathering her thoughts. Only after a minute of wandering past threadbare yards and boarded-up houses does she stop to contemplate her scenery, and the realization hits her that at some point the vibe of this alley seems to have made a distinct shift for the sinister.

Then the real shocker: she sees herself reflected faintly in the side of a dusty metal postbox. Or rather, she sees Noir - and when Haru looks down, she _is_ Noir, mysterious and alluring in her black mask and musketeer’s garb. A gasp escapes her, and a newly-gloved hand flies to her chest in shock. _But...what on earth? Mona-chan said the Metaverse would vanish when we stole the treasure of Mementos…_

 _Drip_ . Distantly, somewhere in the dark recesses of the alley behind her, trails the faint echo of water. _Drip. Drip._ Haru ignores it, her mind racing with theories about this new development.

It’s possible that the Metaverse simply came back, maybe. The collective unconsciousness is probably quite resilient, and it wouldn’t be far-fetched to think it could steadily regenerate over time, like a wound healing. Considering the scale on which it used to exist, though - and _especially_ considering the damage they probably did by killing Yaldabaoth - Noir suspects it hasn’t been nearly long enough for such a thing to happen.

 _Drip. Drip._ Little rivulets splash against the pavement, just a little closer.

 _What if the Metaverse exists on a bigger scope than we thought?_ she wonders, doffing her hat for a moment to adjust the dark plume at a jaunty angle. _What if we only destroyed the part that encompasses Tokyo? I guess the idea of a collective unconsciousness couldn’t be limited to just a single city…_ Perhaps Ren could run into something similar, out in his little hometown in the countryside. Actually, perhaps he already _has_ \- they haven’t spoken in a while, and even if they had she’s not sure he would’ve said anything about it. They’re both secretive types hiding oceans of complexity under their masks, which she supposes is part of what attracted her to him in the first place--

 _DRIP._ Loud now, staccato. Just over her shoulder. _DRIP._

“Hmm?”

Noir glances over her shoulder. Nothing - she’s alone, and an odd stillness has fallen over the alley. In the shadowed recesses of a distant yard, an unlatched gate sways idly back and forth...which is interesting, considering there isn’t a breeze.

 _That’s not right_. She turns in place, pivoting to look closer, and that’s when the attack comes.

It happens the instant her boots settle on the pavement. A smothering cloud of darkness shudders to life in front of her, and there’s barely time to comprehend what she’s seeing before it begins to spew out torrents of awful, spectral hands - hands without bodies, mindlessly grasping. Spindly and impossibly distorted, they burst forth from the miasma, grabbing for handfuls of her clothing, her hair, her limbs, whatever they can grasp. 

Noir yelps in surprise, throwing herself backward, and yanks at her mask. “Persona!”

The Life Wall shimmers into existence just in time. As she lands, scrambling to her feet, the hands batter like a machine gun against her barrier, splashing off it harmlessly. But no sooner do they drop to the earth than they begin springing up again, clustering together like pallid fleshy wings around the shape that emerges from the darkness. It’s a vaguely feminine form, like a parody of a woman, but she’s blurry around the edges, hard to focus on. Not a Hecatoncheires, like Ren once showed her back in Tokyo...this is an entirely different kind of Shadow.

A warm glow at her side announces Lucy’s presence well before Noir turns to look at her. It’s been months, but her Persona hasn’t changed a bit since the day they saved the world together - dignified and regal, and perhaps a bit adorable in her purple ruffles, and unquestionably very dangerous (much like Noir herself). Speaking of which, there’s her old axe in Lucy’s delicate hand, its handle extended toward her in invitation. Just like the old days.

(To be honest, she can hardly believe this is happening, but there’s no mistaking the familiarity of their bond. Even without the Metaverse, Lucy has been by her side all along. _I am thou, thou art I._ )

The feeling of her fingers around the axe’s grip is like settling into a well-loved old armchair. Across the alley, the Shadow jerks forward, twitchy and overcranked, racing towards her in a seething aura of reaching hands. Noir’s already in motion, hefting the axe over one shoulder and rushing to meet the creature.

It’s fast, and it has so many more weapons than she does. But she’s fast too, and it turns out fighting really _is_ like riding a bicycle, because endless hours hacking up Shadows in the tunnels of Mementos has ingrained some serious muscle memory in the former Phantom Thief. Back and forth they weave, as she dances between a hailstorm of attacks, dodging gracefully beneath a flailing arm and then... _thwop!_ A wet crunch echoes across the alley as she cleanly severs one of the monster’s many hands. There’s a distorted hiss of pain from the Shadow as the axe sings a second time, and another hand goes flying into the darkness.

Lucy could probably do some serious damage, but Noir’s always been just as eager to get her hands dirty in a fight as she is in her garden. People readily think of her as gentle, and that’s true, for the most part - but gentleness is a practiced virtue, not a natural one, and she’s had _so much_ cause to practice it. So much anger can build up from helplessness, from the constant feeling of having no control over anything, and she’d never had a healthy way to vent it until she’d joined the Phantom Thieves. It’d been fun to fight with the Shadows - and considering how few victories Noir got in her civilian life as Haru, it’d been fun to _win_ too, to see them cry in terror or flee or dissipate into ashes.

This one turns out to be a little less fun after she chops off four more hands. One of them has finally managed to slip through her defenses, and it pulls her off balance for a second. As Noir stumbles, a clawed hand comes lashing out from the Shadow and--

WHUMP.

It’s not the worst hit she’s ever taken - one time Ryuji had gotten brainwashed during a late autumn Mementos run and clobbered her so hard she’d had a concussion when they’d returned to the real world - but it’s a solid one, a blow that knocks the wind out of her and pitches her bodily down the alley, where she skids to a halt on the pavement with a wince and a cry of pain.

“Agh!” Sitting up, Noir shakes her head to clear the cobwebs and discovers she’s bleeding; there’s a nasty gash where the Shadow hit her. A relatively shallow cut, but it stings whenever she moves her arm, which is a serious handicap when using an axe. Really, it was irresponsible to just go in swinging on this thing, she should’ve played it safe, especially since she’s never seen one of these before. Well, that thing’s drawing closer, jittering in its cloak of grasping spectral fingers - nothing to do now but get up and pay it back for that--

“Hey! What’s going on here? Are you okay?”

A voice, a _human_ voice, startles her out of her focus, and she looks up to see the policeman from earlier. He’s towering over her, concern etched on his face, and it makes Noir’s blood run cold. The cop must’ve followed her in here to help her, and somehow he got stuck in the Metaverse too…there’s the obvious problem with explaining why she’s a masked vigilante with an axe, but his safety is in danger now as well.

“No, you have to get out of here!” she exclaims, pushing herself up to a knee and pointing back the way they came. “It’s not safe!”

The first sign that something is out of the ordinary is...well, really the first sign was when he showed up here at all, but the first sign that she notices is that when the officer looks up and sees the Shadow lurching toward them, like a vision out of a nightmare, he seems...well, not _nonchalant_ , he’s definitely startled, judging by the gasp he lets out. “Whoa! S-some kinda ghost?” 

But he’s standing his ground - he’s taking up a _fighting stance_ , as if he’s planning on arresting the personification of mankind’s distorted desires and then taking it down to the station. Noir almost wants to laugh, but the situation is potentially life-and-death here, and she shakes her head. “Listen, um…” Her eyes flick up to the breast of his uniform, where an ID badge rests beneath an enamel pin of an old-school peace sign. “Listen, Officer Higashikata, there isn’t time to explain, but that thing’s dangerous and ordinary people can’t hurt it! Please retreat for your own safety and let me handle this!”

The cop leans down to grasp her hand, pulling her to her feet, and there’s the second sign of something being off - a strange, soothing warmth that seems to radiate faintly over her body. The odd sensation passes as quickly as it came, leaving Noir to turn her attention to Officer Higashikata, who...has taken off his hat, apparently not listening to a word she’s said. Her concern for his safety is matched only by her surprise at his hairstyle - a full-blown vintage pompadour, painstakingly sculpted and coiffed. What the hell? A _yankii_ police officer?

“Sorry ma’am, no can do,” he says in reply, rolling a shoulder in place. “Wouldn’t be much of a public servant if I didn’t serve the public, so…”

It’s insane. The man just gave a one-liner like an action movie hero and now he’s _running towards a Shadow_ , one that’s giving an experienced Phantom Thief a run for her money. Noir reaches out an arm, begins to shout to him, and that’s when she notices the gash across her collarbone is gone. No bleeding, no pain, nothing. Even the tear in her blouse had been mended. Maybe it’s some kind of cognitive effect, but she doesn’t have time to think about that because if she doesn’t save this guy he’s going to--

“ _CRAZY DIAMOND!!!”_

And Noir sees the third sign.

It happens almost too fast for her to follow it. There’s a flash and a blur of movement, a sudden burst of color in the air. He’s got a Persona, a cotton-candy muscleman emblazoned in hearts, but she only catches a glimpse of its full frame as it _wallops_ the thousand-handed Shadow with a barrage of bare-knuckled punches - “ _dorarara!”_ \- that sends it crashing through a nearby fence and down to the ground. The monster’s bulk leaves a spiderweb of cracks on the front walk of an abandoned house, and it struggles to re-right itself, grasping wildly at anything in reach.

Noir rushes forward to join him. She can hardly believe her eyes. There’s a million questions - is there a Phantom Thieves of Morioh? Why does a cop have a Persona? Does the Metaverse work differently here? Is there a talking animal? - and no time at all to ask them, at least not right now. Her newfound ally has put the fear of god in that thing, but it’s not going to stay down unless they _make_ it stay down.

As the Shadow begins to clamber its way back upright, the numerous hands clutching onto the exterior of the derelict house, Officer Higashikata glances her way, and to her surprise, he seems stoked, a boyish glee in his dark eyes. Maybe at finding someone with the same power, maybe at the chance to fight this thing. Maybe it doesn’t matter, as long as he’s on her side.

“We can hash this out once we’re safe,” she offers. “Does that sound okay to you?”

He grins in response. “Oh, that’s just _great_ by me.”

With that, they charge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Haru makes a new friend, learns some history, and goes out for Italian.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haru makes a new friend, learns some history, and goes out for Italian.

Well, despite the context, it feels incredible to be doing this again.

Fighting, even against each other, is a thing that bonds people on some primal level. Part of that bond is the feeling of a common struggle, and the adhesive nature of shared adversity. It conveys a sort of instant empathy, the same reason you often see two MMA fighters embrace in jubilation after a brutal five-round war. In the moment, the person fighting alongside (or against) you is the one who understands you perfectly.

Noir - _Haru_ \- knows this because she’s seen it firsthand, lived through it herself. When she first joined the Phantom Thieves, the team had been going through some tension that’d only worsened the awkwardness of bringing a new person into a friend group. It was only after her maiden Mementos trip that they’d started loosening up - specifically about twenty minutes into that trip, when she’d shielded Ren from a Shadow that looked like a starfish with a face. As soon as they’d been back in the bus, Ann had sidled up next to her and asked about the gardening club at Shujin, and the chill had swiftly thawed from there.

So it is that, as they throw down, she learns a little about Officer Higashikata. Wherever he got his Persona, it’s clear this is far from his first rodeo - in fact, he’s content to hang back at a distance and let it do all the fighting for him in melee, which is an extraordinary feat of stamina. For her part, Noir stays up close, bringing Lucy out mainly to defend herself against the whirlwind of razor-sharp fingernails and clammy ghost-palms that lash from the Shadow. She weaves in and out of the fight, striking whenever the creature’s back is turned or the pink Persona manages to stagger it a bit, until at last it begins to thrash wildly and swing in wild, haphazard arcs. She dives away just in time to avoid being smashed, and sees the pavement underneath the Shadow crumble and shatter under the impact of its fists.

But the other Persona - was it ‘Crazy Diamond’, he said? - isn’t falling back. Quite the opposite, there’s another shout of “ _dorarara!!!_ ” and it throws its considerable strength and speed into...pummeling the pavement between itself and the Shadow. She pauses, blinking in confusion, and beholds the shattered stretch of sidewalk leap up into a patchwork wall of sorts.

 _Some kind of telepathy? No, wait - he repurposed the broken parts of the sidewalk._ A thought springs to mind unbidden, the brief memory of her injury healing after he helped her up. Had that also been him? What kind of power is this?

As the monster’s numerous fists pound uselessly against Higashikata’s improvised shield, Noir sees her opening and fires a blast of psy energy from Lucy’s cannon. The swirling purple energy hits it clean in the side, and to her pleasant surprise, it’s particularly effective - the Shadow reels to the ground in a daze, clutching weakly at its face.

“Now’s our chance!” she cries, springing forward. “An all-out attack!”

Crazy Diamond is right there with her, and it’s all over in an instant. Noir lands, adrenaline racing, and the death throes of the Shadow ring out in a chorus of snarling hisses. Overcome by the thrill of victory, she strikes a graceful pose just like the old days - _Adieu_ \- as it dissipates into nothingness behind her, blowing away like dust in the wind.

When she opens her eyes, she’s startled to find Officer Higashikata posing beside her.

-//-

At the entrance to the alley, reality seems to shimmer again and the familiar muffled chatter of a busy downtown afternoon echoes from around the corner. It seems they’ve returned to the real world, and Haru’s thief costume has disappeared in favor of her turtleneck and skirt. She dusts herself off and checks for bruises; there’s a little soreness, but nothing that warrants any kind of concern.

“Alright, that was pretty wild.” Her erstwhile partner joins her at the gate, smoothing away a few errant hairs with a pocket comb. To her surprise, a familiar cream-colored figure hovers in the air behind him, resting in a thoughtful pose. “Wait, how’d you do the outfit-change thing? Never seen that trick before.”

Haru recoils in surprise, hand flying to her mouth. “Wha--you can use your Persona outside the Metaverse!”

“I can use my what outside the _what?!_ ”

“The alley we were just in, it’s part of the Metaverse.” She’s floundering a bit here, gesturing weakly with her hands. With how comfortable this cop was in the alley, it had seemed obvious that he knew all about this sort of stuff, so having to explain it has kind of blindsided her. “Like, the...the other world, with the collective unconsciousness and…”

“Oh, like the world of ghosts,” he says with a confident nod. (Wait, _what?_ ) “Does your Stand ability have something to do with that?”

Her head cants slightly to the side in bewilderment. “What’s a Stand?”

A moment goes by in silence, the two of them exchanging puzzled stares, and then at last he breaks into a boyish grin and shrugs his broad shoulders. “Well, with what went down back there, you seem trustworthy, but it’s like we’re speaking different languages here.” Fixing his cap back in place, he gives a casual little bow. “So let’s start over and maybe we can both explain ourselves, yeah? I’m Higashikata Josuke.”

“Okumura Haru,” she replies, bowing in turn. “It’s nice to meet you, Officer Higashikata, but to be totally truthful...even though you seem like a trustworthy person too, I don’t think I should be saying anything about what just happened.” Polite, but firm - it’s an approach that’s gotten her far in school and business alike so far, and this is definitely the time to apply it. “I’m afraid my past experiences haven’t given me any reason to trust the police.”

It’s not quite a stinging rebuke, but it’s also not exactly warm. Still, Haru’s surprised to see that the man takes her response in stride as they walk back to the sidewalk together. “Nah, I get where you’re coming from,” he says. “Honestly, right now the cops don’t have a very good reputation, especially after what came out about the Justice Department after the election.” Josuke pauses to retrieve his bicycle from its current spot leaned against a parking meter. “I’m trying to be the change I wanna see, and all that, but I don’t blame you for being careful.”

“Thank you for being understanding about it.” She wants to ask about his strange Persona and its abilities, but hesitates, feeling more than a little hypocritical. “Although I guess it wouldn’t be very fair for me to ask you any questions either, if I’m not answering any.”

“It’s all good. If it helps you stay safe in Morioh, you can ask any questions you want,” he answers. “And I mean...obviously, whatever you say in the process, I’ll keep it between us.” _That_ , at least, is unexpected (‘keeping it between us’ is basically the opposite of his job description), and Haru’s surprise must register on her face because he elaborates further: “Look, you saw Crazy D, so you know what I mean when I say that some things just don’t fit into the everyday world’s rules. People who you’d trust with normal stuff...well, they don’t really understand this world sometimes.” A little smile. “So I get it.”

She wants to argue, but with everything that’s happened in the last ten minutes, it’s hard to deny that they’ve probably been through a lot of the same stuff. Maybe he _has_ stood where she’s standing now - it’s strange to envision an adult, let alone part of ‘the system’, being willing to relate to her, but there’s a familiar warmth about it that weakens Haru’s resolve. And then, even worse, her stomach growls in annoyance, drawing a frustrated sigh from her. What a betrayal.

“...I’ll tell you what,” she says cautiously. “I...I think it’d be okay for us to talk about what just happened, as long as it stays between us like you said.” Then, a little more bold: “And on the condition that you suggest a nice spot to eat after we get done. I’m starving.”

His eyes light up. “Oh man, you too? I’ll do you one better: it’s _way_ overdue for my lunch break, and I know the best spot in town. You like Italian?”

“I love it!” Haru exclaims, and suddenly her mouth is watering at the thought of creamy risottos and savory marinara thick with Tuscan herbs, and her resistance collapses altogether. “You lead the way, then, and we can talk as we go.”

-//-

_1:15 p.m._

**Kitagawa Yusuke:** Good afternoon, Haru. I wanted to express my surprise and appreciation for the Musou Black paint that arrived at my home this morning.

 **Okumura Haru:** Hello, Yusuke-kun! You’re very welcome. I’ve been a little nostalgic lately, and I saw an article in the _Asahi Shimbun_ about your piece in the Rising Masters exhibition, so I thought congratulations were in order. 

**Kitagawa Yusuke:** It’s extraordinarily thoughtful of you. Imagine what I can accomplish with such a remarkable gift!

 **Kitagawa Yusuke:** The blackest black...what dark recesses of the human heart might I paint with it? What dread anti-phoenix could arise from such a limitless abyss?

 **Okumura Haru:** Whatever you end up making, I’d love to see it! I’m actually looking at some local art myself, over in Morioh-cho.

 **Kitagawa Yusuke:** I see. What sort of art is it, if I may inquire?

_[Okumura Haru attached an image.]_

**Kitagawa Yusuke:** Ah...what a grotesque statue! That brutish grimace, the contorted features...and yet there’s a plaintive note to its gaze, a distant hint of pity.

 **Okumura Haru:** My tour guide says it’s called the Angelo Stone.

 **Kitagawa Yusuke:** Fascinating. Oh, but am I interrupting your tour? I don’t wish to make you appear rude by being on your phone while your guide attempts to show you around.

 **Okumura Haru:** Not at all. I actually have a moment to look around while he breaks up a fight between two drunks.

 **Kitagawa Yusuke:** That sounds like an unusual responsibility for a tour guide.

 **Okumura Haru** : It’s a long story.

-//-

In the time it takes for them to walk from the Angelo Stone to their destination along Jozenji Road, Haru learns a great deal about Higashikata Josuke. He’s thirty-three, he’s lived in Morioh his whole life, and he was inspired to join the police because of his grandfather (a lifelong patrolman who’d died in the line of duty). Less mundanely, he’s not actually a Persona user - there’s a whole other world out here that she’s never known about, completely different from the supernatural hijinks of the past year. 

It’s a lot to take in, but Josuke’s quite forthcoming with details. He seems happy to chat about their powers without any reservations (“People like us,” he explains knowingly, “who have abilities like we do, are drawn to each other”), all in a loud enough voice that Morgana would’ve blown a gasket if he’d been around to hear it. She gets the elevator pitch on his mysterious power - a _Stand_ , apparently - and how everyone’s is a unique manifestation from their innermost soul, with its own special ability.

“The way you describe it,” Haru muses aloud, “it sounds like there must be some kind of connection. From what I understand, a Persona is your specific spirit of rebellion, like who you are on the inside.” She wishes Morgana was here to explain it more clearly. It’s hard to describe how it’d felt when Milady had burst forth from her consciousness, a ray of sunlight through the bars of her gilded cage. “I wonder if a Stand could represent part of a person’s cognitive self. The fact that they can all do different things seems related to that somehow, as well.”

“And it was compatible with that ‘otherworld’ in the alley.” He strolls alongside her, one hand keeping the bike upright between them. “Which is weird...I know that alley’s haunted, but that’s the first time I’ve ever seen something like _that_ happen.”

Well, he’s been true to his word, so it won’t hurt to fill in some of the blanks here, and maybe they’ll discover something new in the process. “That was part of the cognitive universe,” she explains. “It’s...like the contents of everyone’s minds, all at once, but as a place you can go. People’s unconscious selves live there, and the things that happen to them in the Metaverse affect them in the real world. Um, I’m sorry if this seems unclear. I don’t fully understand it myself, to be honest.”

“No, it’s trippy, but I think I get the gist of it. There’s a lot of, uh, bad memories attached to that alley for a lot of people, so I guess if that were going to happen somewhere, it’d be there.”

The bustle of downtown is beginning to fade into a drone behind them as they meander up the road and pass a public park with a grassy knoll and a stand of trees. Somewhere in the distance, Haru can hear the familiar trill of nuthatches singing to each other, weaving in and out between the calls of children running around in the park.

A long moment goes by as they listen to the birds, until her companion speaks up again. “So if you could talk to somebody’s unconscious self, I guess you could do a lot of things, couldn’t you?” His voice is thoughtful, distant. “Maybe even change criminals’ hearts so they’d become better people, do something good with their lives.”

“Well, if all the criminals stopped wanting to commit crimes, wouldn’t you be out of a job?” It’s not _meant_ to be a jab. Well, maybe a tiny jab, it’s hard to help herself.

Remarkably, Josuke waves a hand as if dismissing the idea. “Pfft. You ask me, I’d take that deal in a second. There are other jobs, you know? I entered the police academy right about when I was your age--” He catches himself with a sheepish chuckle, and has the good grace to blush at his own words. “God, that sounded old of me. Anyway, it’s been a decade and change on the beat, and the higher-ups are still always breathing down my neck about quotas and public image. If they had their way, I’d be staking out an unlocked car with a case of beer to see if anybody tries to steal it.”

There’s a familiar note of weary disdain in the officer’s voice. It takes Haru a second to place that tone - she’s heard it in Ren before, talking about how he’d been railroaded through the justice system. She imagines what it would be like to deal with that for years and years.

“But I don’t pay ‘em any mind, personally,” he finishes. “I got into this to help people, not shake down hobos and give traffic tickets, so that’s what I’m doing. And I get results, so they can’t argue with _that_.” His self-satisfied laugh echoes down the road, and the nuthatches fall still for about a second and a half - just long enough for Haru to come to a decision.

“It _is_ actually possible to change someone’s heart with the Metaverse,” she admits quietly, the last few syllables competing with the return of the birdsong. “I know, because I’ve done it myself.”

And as they pass under a canopy of trees, she begins to explain everything.

-//-

“I remember in the weeks leading up to the election, the only thing any of the candidates in our district would campaign on was how much they supported Shido Masayoshi,” Josuke says as they trudge off the sidewalk and towards a squat white storefront built into the side of a local residence. “That level of support, for a guy like that...honestly, it makes a lot of sense that it was supernatural. God only knows I’ve seen stranger things.”

As it turns out, Haru has made the right call. Despite her apprehension, her new acquaintance has not only believed everything she’s said, he seems impressed and supportive of the Phantom Thieves - in fact, he’s disappointed when she tells him how they went their separate ways. A great deal gets left out of the story, mostly involving Dr. Maruki, but she provides more than enough detail to win him over.

“From what I saw of his inner self, he was an awful man,” she says, shaking her head. “But he had the Holy Grail on his side, and he could control the public’s cognition with it. There was no fair way to win against someone like that in the real world.”

He seems to agree, at least: “It sounds like you guys might’ve saved all of Japan, and we didn’t even know about it.” There’s no sarcasm, and his smile is a genuine one as he beckons her along. “So the least I can do is buy you lunch, yeah?”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she begins, but the lettering in the window distracts her before she can protest in earnest. _Trattoria Trussardi_ , it reads in old-fashioned white lettering. _Est’d 1999_. Beneath it is a cute design depicting a basket of tomatoes, and a red circle with a familiar logo that takes Haru a second to place, until...“I’m sorry, d-does this place have a Michelin star?!”

“Since 2010,” Josuke answers over his shoulder, opening the door for her. “Hey, lunch rush is incoming! Red alert in here!”

Haru’s still reeling from her discovery, and it takes her a second to process the interior of the restaurant. Quite the opposite of the grandiose affair she’d expected, it’s a quaint little one-room venue with only three tables, all draped in simple white cloth. The whole thing is done up in a charming retro decor with a Western touch, featuring rustic statues of geese and an ancient-looking oaken wine rack by one wall.

Lazing in a stool up front, with his feet up on a lectern, is the man at whom Josuke was yelling. He looks to be about the same age, in fact, and Haru thinks he’s got an unorthodox sort of handsomeness to him, in an action hero sort of way - high cheekbones cut like semicircles, a strong jaw, and a tough-guy flat top that pairs hilariously with the policeman’s pompadour. A dark blue bowtie is affixed crookedly around the neck of his white double-breasted jacket - a chef’s uniform, Haru realizes. That must be the familiar chef hat tucked into his hip pocket, dangling like a handkerchief.

“Oi, Josuke!” the man exclaims, straightening up and leaping to his feet. “Didn’t know you’d be comin’ in today! Who’s the kid?”

Josuke stands back in turn, gesturing to him with a hand. “Okumura-san, this is Nijimura Okuyasu - he’s the sous chef here at Tonio’s. Okuyasu, this is a new friend of mine. You’re gonna laugh at me when you find out how we met.”

“I’m gonna laugh at you regardless,” Okuyasu responds. He waves lazily, an easy grin splitting his broad face. “Nice to meetcha, Okumura-san. First time in Morioh?”

The pump has been primed, at least - she’s never met this man before, but considering how heavily he figured into the story she heard on the way here, Haru is pleased to make his acquaintance. “Yes it is!” she answers, giving a little bow. “Officer Higashikata’s said a lot of good things about you, Nijimura-san. Please, you can both just call me Haru.”

“Well, same goes for you then, Haru-chan. You two hungry?”

“God yes,” Josuke chimes in next to her. “We actually got in a Stand battle on the way here; I’m about to fall over if I don’t get some food down.”

“Oh jeez. I ain’t gonna ask. C’mon, lemme show you to a table over here…”

Haru isn’t sure it’s necessary for him to do that, considering there’s three tables in the entire establishment and none of them are occupied right now. Still, when in Rome (or Naples, judging by the Neapolitan map framed on one of the walls) - and so she follows the pair to their table, settling into a well-worn but comfortable leather seat. Okuyasu is off to the races a moment later, rushing back to get water and silverware and whatever else, and that leaves her to read over the menu with great interest.

“What’s the Chef’s Specialty Wellness Regimen?” she asks, the price listed under it making her eyelids flutter.

“Oh, that’s...that gets a little too exciting for lunch,” Josuke says from across the table, inexplicably grimacing. “Just trust me on this, maybe opt out of that part of the menu.”

That’s...strange, and Haru glances up at him in momentary confusion, but after a second, the opposite page on the menu catches her eye, and it doesn’t seem worth questioning.

“Well, it _has_ been a long time since I’ve had chicken parmesan…”

“That might be the best way to go, yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Haru enjoys a three-course lunch, and has a long heart-to-heart about her happiness.


End file.
